


Enamored SIlence

by VeryMousy



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Big sister, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Issues, Other, Reader-Insert, Stalking, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unhealthy Relationships, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryMousy/pseuds/VeryMousy
Summary: It's at this point you realize you've been staring at him, unmoving. He's done the same aside from a now slightly tilted head, his shaggy hair shadowing his face as he scrutinizes you.For lack of a better idea, you raise your hand up and give him a half hearted wave, hoping he doesn't call out to you. But he never does, and he never waves back either. He just stares.Weird, but better than trying to communicate with a notepad to someone across the street. You shake him off and get on your bike, riding off in whichever direction has the longest road. The feeling of eyes on you never leaves, but with a whole town to explore, you can't find yourself caring all that much.
Relationships: Patrick Hockstetter & Reader
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is basically just to explore the dynamic of your family. Not many actual It characters but I'd planned for them to come later.  
> If you read this, please tell me what you think! I'm not a writer at all and I've never posted any work online. Wrote this on a whim!  
> Technically a reader insert, but you are a character and you have a story and personality.
> 
> Gentle criticism more than welcome. I'm sensitive LOL

"Your father and I are going to be leaving for work again."

A small sigh escapes you. Can't she at least let you get a bite of the pity pancakes she's dished out for you before getting into this? You look over to your older sister, asking her a silent question, and she just shakes her head and digs back into her own half finished pancakes.

Your mom's voice starts again, with a tinge of sadness that actually almost convinces you.  
"We're gonna be gone for three months. We've left you enough money for five just to be safe, and we'll be calling you everyday to check on you."

A laugh, your sister's, is the only response you hear for a while as you stare down your breakfast, the smiley face on it staring right back at you. Right up until your sister speaks up, mouth still full.  
"Three fucking months? We moved in four days ago, mom. You can't be serious with this shit, can you?"

If you talked you'd agree.  
Turning a curious eye to your father, he simply drinks his coffee. You know he knows what's coming, and you wonder if he gets sick of it. You wonder, sometimes, if he feels much of anything at all these days. Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by the clang of silverware hitting the table, and your mom's chair screeching as she stands up to point a finger at your sister. 

The tinge of sadness is long gone as she speaks, replaced with her more common irate tone, though ever level. If you could say one thing about her, it's that she never technically yelled.  
"Don't swear at the table. You're lucky to have parents who work so hard to give you such a comfortable life, so you better watch your mouth while you gorge yourself on the food that I made for you."

There it is. You ask yourself again, unable to stop yourself, how many times you've been through this. How much of your life, total, has been spent on this same conversation?  
To your sister's credit, she knows when to give up, and simply gets up from her now finished breakfast and retreats to her room with a whispered "bitch."  
The tiny chuckle you hear from your dads coffee cup doesn't escape you, but it seems to have escaped mom. You smile at him, and he shoots you the smallest wink. 

As you finally dig into your pancakes, gone soft and mushy from their neglect, you look up at your mom to see her deep in thought. She silently pushes in her chair and starts in collecting the dishes. God forbid the fact you're only about 3 bites deep, you know that if you say something it'll just be in one ear out the other. Cleaning helps her feel better, you remind yourself.

Halfway to your room, your dad speaks for the first and probably last time of the day, most likely the last thing he'll say before he leaves.  
"You should go play outside. Meet the locals, read a book. We'll live here plenty long, go on out."  
His tone doesn't leave you hopeful as you find yourself reaching for your pocket anyway, but he cuts you off by clearing his throat and nodding to the door.  
Damn. Worth a shot. Looks like it's out into the wilderness you go. You throw yourself out the door as dramatically as you can manage and your dad just laughs at you and throws up 8 fingers to remind you of your curfew. You wave him off, there's no time for this, it's time for you to get down to some real business.

The garage door looms over you, and you feel like if the house could talk, it would laugh at you. You grab and shimmy the handle, just like you remember your dad showed you, but there's not even a budge. The heat starts rising to your cheeks at the thought that someone could be watching you lose a fight with your garage door, but embarrassment certainly hasn't stopped you before and it sure as hell won't now. You grab the handle as hard as you can, both hands, and jerk it upwards. 

Surprising no one but you, the door shoots upwards with a screech loud enough to echo streets over. It's enough to make you jump, almost knock you off your footing, but you manage to catch yourself before you hit the ground. The garage is dark and uninviting, but you run in and, in a gold medal worthy move, spring into the air and pull the string for the light. It clicks on, bathing you in the safety of the light and you set about your mission quickly.

Your bike is old. It's baby blue and has a basket on it too big to ignore but not big enough to carry much. The training wheels make turning a pain, and you've definitely never made friends over the lady-killer, but this bike has gotten you everywhere you've ever needed to go, so you definitely aren't gonna complain. Not even as you wrestle it off the wall where your dad has hung it up to "save space". What he's saving space for you aren't sure of, seeing as both cars are never at the house anyway. 

As you walk your bike down your driveway, the victory of freedom inches away, you feel eyes on you that stop you in your tracks. Cold as ice, right down your spine to your toes, and you curl into yourself on instinct. Your eyes dart around, your head whips around, you even get your hair caught in your mouth, until you finally lock eyes with who you assume is your neighbor. An entirely new panic starts setting in. Will he try to talk to you? How much has he seen? Can he read your big "I'M MUTE" pin from there?

It's at this point you realize you've been staring at him, unmoving. He's done the same aside from a now slightly tilted head, his shaggy hair shadowing his face as he scrutinizes you.  
For lack of a better idea, you raise your hand up and give him a half hearted wave, hoping he doesn't call out to you. But he never does, and he never waves back either. He just stares.  
Weird, but better than trying to communicate with a notepad to someone across the street. You shake him off and get on your bike, riding off in whichever direction has the longest road. The feeling of eyes on you never leaves, but with a whole town to explore, you can't find yourself caring all that much.


	2. Cloudwatching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peculiar cloud drags you from your thoughts, and you crane your neck up to look at it. You've never seen a cloud take such a clear shape before, but you swear to yourself you can see a perfect balloon, string attached and all, moving almost unnaturally through the sky. Through the sky, at least, until it almost appears to come closer to earth and sink down behind the trees into the woods. You're imagining things, right? That cloud absolutely did not just sink to earth. That's ridiculous.  
> You wander into the woods anyway.

Derry is not a town that offers much, you conclude. The arcade catches your eye, but with no money and socializing low on your priority list, you keep riding. You make a mental note of the local pharmacy corner store in case of future accidents, but town for the most part, has bored you. You decide to ride back to your street, and park yourself and your bike on a small grassy hill at the end of the road. Might as well relax after the stress you've dealt with today, and when all else fails you, you can always count on the sky to be there for you. 

You sit down with an audible exhale to find the earth soft and slightly warm beneath you. The wind blowing against your face makes you unwittingly smile, and you lay back onto the grass. Grabbing handfuls and plucking out singular blades, the clouds start to take shape as you watch them. You watch closely, picking out shapes and promising to commit special ones to memory to draw them later and show your sister. At best she'll feign interest, but that doesn't bother you. The clouds are beautiful, with a story to tell, and you're more than happy to share it.

A peculiar cloud drags you from your thoughts, and you crane your neck up to look at it. You've never seen a cloud take such a clear shape before, but you swear to yourself you can see a perfect balloon, string attached and all, moving almost unnaturally through the sky. Through the sky, at least, until it almost appears to come closer to earth and sink down behind the trees into the woods. You're imagining things, right? That cloud absolutely did not just sink to earth. That's ridiculous.  
You wander into the woods anyway.

It's guided at first, straight in the direction you could've sworn it would be, but you find yourself compelled to take a sudden right, just a bit deeper into the woods. The trail is winding and disappearing, and you crunch a stick beneath your shoes that seems way too loud, making you flinch. It's so quiet, you didn't realize until now. Even the buzzing of summer locust seems to have gone silent, as if all life has decided to up and leave. The air feels thick, but not uncomfortably so, just enough to make breathing something you have to think about. 

No sooner than you think about turning around, you spot it, floating above a small stream. The cloud balloon. It's smaller than you expected, especially after seeing it so magnificent in the sky, and you wonder if all clouds are this small close up. You look around and decide there's no harm in investigating. There may never be another chance at touching a cloud for you.  
Hesitant steps into the stream, the water manages to splash up into your rainboots anyway. It's cold, uncomfortably so, but you don't think much of it. Dad said Derry was cold. All you can hear is your breathing, and your footsteps. Even the rushing water seems to lack sound.

Up close, it looks soft and unassuming. You can't help yourself, you reach your hand out and poke it tentatively, not really expecting anything to happen. The fluff around the balloon dissipates with a hiss, leaving a single red balloon, and you briefly admire how shiny it is. Briefly, that is to say, you admire it until it pops.

The sound is resounding, like a bomb going off, with a following explosion of air bursting seemingly from everywhere. The trees shake, the birds you swore left fly away in droves, and you're left on your ass in a cold stream, confused and terrified.   
Your eyes are shut tight to try and fight off the winds, your lungs hurt and you're scrambling backwards through the stream. The rocks are sharp and slippery, and as soon as you stop to wonder what you're backing away from, you back right into something. It feels like a person, two long legs, and as you try to look behind you your eyes are greeted with.. ruffled pants and shoes adorned with a red poof? You try to look up at them to apologize, but someone calling out takes your attention.

"What are you doing out here, you little weirdo?"  
Oh, it's your sister! You turn around again, her presence calming you, only to find ruffles long gone. Pulling yourself up onto your knees, no longer caring how wet you get at this point, you look around. Where did they go? What the fuck just happened?

No answers, just your sister's less than gentle grip on your arms lifting you up and her clicking her tongue at the state of you.  
"C'mon dude, you shouldn't be out here by yourself. You're lucky I saw your dumbass bike up there and you didn't drown or some shit."

Scrambling for your notepad and marker out of your pockets, luckily only half soaked, you locate a dry-enough page and hastily write down what just happened, ending it on a crude scribbling of the balloon surrounded by question marks.  
Your sister sighs and reads through it, staring you down more intensely than you'd like. For a second you wonder if she's going to be serious, but she reaches out and starts ruffling your hair, ignoring your swatting hands.  
Her voice is soft, concerned, but holds her signature mocking tone as she speaks.   
"Did you hit your head trying to climb a tree? There was no explosion and there definitely wasn't some ruffled weirdo behind you when I found you. Stop staring at clouds, the sun's rotting your brain or some shit." 

She helps you back to the trail, your legs more torn up than you realized. A nasty bruise is already forming on your right knee and your palms are torn up from the rocks in the stream. You don't actually hurt, but your sister tells you that's just the adrenaline and how you'll be feeling that shit tomorrow. It tapers off into her telling you the story of how she got into a fight with Bobby in your hometown and how she didn't feel her broken knuckles until after a nap. 

You've heard this story before, but it's good background noise for walking your bike home, and it's better than her teasing you. Maybe she can sense the way your heart is beating, or she sees the way you keep looking around like you're afraid. You are afraid. You don't think you've felt fear like that before. Something tells you you're luckier than you'll ever know that your sister showed up when she did, and you'll never forget that.


End file.
